


The Trouble with Paradise

by Zasa



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Chapter 5: Guarma (Red Dead Redemption 2), M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-27 00:48:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30114591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zasa/pseuds/Zasa
Summary: Guarma with more angst and pining
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a plan for this fic, so right now there are no warnings or ratings, but that may change.

There was something about being on the run that altered their relationship for better or for worse. Since leaving Clemon's Point, Arthur felt Dutch slipping from him, slow but steady, his heart ripping out after him. 

The botched Blackwater job had ruined their lives as they knew it. Mac, Davey, and Jenny lost theirs. An innocent women died by Dutch's own hands. Before, they robbed the filthy rich and killed only when their lives depended on it. Now, they killed everyone who got in their way and all the bystanders unlucky enough to there. There was so much innocent blood on Arthur's hands that he couldn't stand to look at them for long. But Blackwater did give Arthur one thing.

Dutch.

Dutch needed him, now more than ever. Kept him close. Worried over him when some brute tried knocking his teeth out in the middle of Valentine. Proclaimed how much he missed him for the whole camp to hear upon his return from a few days gone. Stepped into his tent to talk about nothing and everything and sometimes to just sit in companionable silence while they both sketched and drank and tried for a moment to forget what got them there. Those days, the hug of the trees felt like all the protection they needed from the Pinkertons. Those days, Arthur knew whatever happened, as long as he had Dutch, he'd survive. 

Then they had to flee from Horseshoe Overlook. And from Clemon's Point. And very soon, their time at Shady Belle would come to an end. And Dutch grew colder. That alone might not have been too bad, but it was dotted with warmth and love and small gestures and things said casually but sincerely, like: "I was about to say you're like a son to me, but you're more than that."

Arthur had no idea what that meant, but it filled him with heart-tugging elation nonetheless. Made every single thing worthwhile. Dutch cared for him more than he thought anyone ever could, and while things got tense and unsure in every other aspect of their lives, Arthur only needed to cling to the sparse affection that Dutch offered him to get through it. In the end, all his efforts would lead to their safe haven on some beach where they could once again live in peace. And perhaps this time, Dutch wouldn't forget how much Arthur could give him. 

Another botched job, this one a sure set-up, and they were scrambling for safety once again. And just like last time, it brought them closer. Arthur wasn't why. But he soaked it all in, crouched in the shade of shipping crates with Dutch hunkered a few feet from him, talking. Opening up. He'd sent Bill, Javier, and Micah to scour the boat and told Arthur to stay with him. Then came the old, comfortable silence that had lately been replaced by tense, cold stares in lieu of conversation. They were on a boat heading God-knew-where with an even bigger bounty on their heads, separated by an ocean from the rest of the gang, and mourning the loss of two members, but Arthur felt the tension in his shoulders ease for the first time in weeks.

Dutch leaned in, the purr of the boat motor and the waves lulling Arthur into a groggy state until then. Now, with Dutch's eyes locked onto his, he felt himself come alive. "Hosea," he said simply, though the emotion in his voice was rife with longing and anguish. His oldest friend. His partner for decades. Gone in the blink of an eye. Left to rot on the street like he meant nothing. 

"Yeah," Arthur agreed.

"I can't lose you too. I wouldn't...I couldn't..."

Arthur feared saying the wrong thing, so he kept his mouth shut, unsure how to convey how deeply he reciprocated what Dutch meant. What he figured he meant, anyway. None of their triumphs meant anything if they weren't achieved together. He'd rather run from the law with Dutch for the rest of his life than live socially acceptable without him. That's why he was still here all these years later. That's why he could never bring himself to leave the gang despite all his chances. As far as he was concerned, home was exactly where he was now: at Dutch's side.

"Listen to me, Arthur." Dutch's hand wound around the back of Arthur's neck, pulling them together until their foreheads touched. Arthur froze, even his breath stalling, looking at Dutch through his lashes. Dutch shut his eyes, squeezed Arthur tighter. "Whatever happens, come back to me."

"I will," Arthur croaked. "I always will."

The corner of Dutch's lips twitched into a sad smile. 

Then Bill appeared, having found the captain, and Arthur startled backward, heart pounding as if they'd been caught doing something wrong. What /was/ it they were doing? Arthur didn't know, but his thoughts would linger on the moment, unsure why it brought him so much satisfaction and, at the same time, shame.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I totally botched the first paragraph last chapter. It's fixed now :) sorry for the gibberish

The captain gave them a room to sleep in, for which Arthur was grateful. The bank job and all that happened in its wake had settled on him like cement dust, solidifying now that they were idle. His body grew weak under its weight.

"Get some rest," Dutch said, the command filled with concern over impatience as it had been the weeks prior. Arthur, knowing there was little he could do in their current situation, listened. And when he woke, the boat was capsizing.

Dutch shook him awake, dragged him through the interior of the rocking boat before he was fully conscious. Debris crashed between them, sparks flying. 

"Damn it! Arthur?"

Arthur scrambled to his feet, choking on smoke and dust. Once again, everything was falling apart. "Go on! I'll find away around."

"We don't have time!" 

"I'll meet you up top. Go!"

And Dutch did go. He went so far that by the time Arthur got to the top deck, Dutch was in a life boat, riding the waves away. 

There was a terrifying moment where he plunged into the black abyss of the ocean and assumed that was the end of that.

Then he woke in paradise, the sun cooking him alive. His lungs felt packed with sand, his throat skinned raw. He climbed to his feet only to fall the next second. His body ached worse than when he'd been strung up by Colm. Still, he forced himself up, made his bare feet move, stumbling along until he blacked out only to wake and do it all again. In the fog of his mind, he only thought about the promise he'd made to Dutch. He would do everything in his power to get back to him. 

But it grew harder to pick his feet up, harder to breathe. He didn't recall ever feeling this thirsty before, and wondered if heat stroke or dehydration would kill him first. The beach had to lead somewhere, he just had to find civilization before the sun could wring him dry.

But the sun grew higher and hotter, and, hours later, Arthur dropped to his knees for what he assumed to be the last time. It was no longer mind over matter. His body was shutting down. 

Hie gasped for breath and looked toward the water, imagining how nice it would be to settle with the gang in a place like this. It sounded farfetched until now, until his hands carded through crystalline sand, until parrots chirped from the palm trees. His arms shook trying to hold him upright. 

He supposed it was a nice place to die. 

A thin trail of smoke twisted into the sky. He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. The smoke kept rising. Delirium or not, he might find someone to help him right around the corber. His vision went black for a moment, but still, he rose. A nice place to die, but perhaps not yet. 

He rounded the rocks and sitting beachfront, crouched by a fire was the last thing he ever expected. It had to be in his head. It couldn't really be...

He stumbled a step forward, tongue thick and heavy, throat aflame, but he had to say something. He had to prove what he saw to be a mirage. A dying wish. 

"D...Dutch." God it felt like swallowing fire, but the figure by the fire looked his way. "Dutch."

The man rose. And just beneath the crash of waves, Arthur heard it. His favorite sound. Dutch speaking his name. 

"Arthur. You're alive."

Dutch was rushing toward him now, the others in tow. It was impossible. But then Dutch was feet away, looking worn and unkempt, but there. Really there. Him, Bill, Javier, and Micah. They'd all survived. Somehow. 

Dutch's arms enveloped him. "Arthur. It is a miracle." A soft, exalting laugh. "It is a goddamn miracle." 

Next thing Arthur knew, Bill was shoving a drink at him at Dutch's command while Dutch kept Arthur steady, guiding him toward the fire. He wanted to cry, wanted to bawl like the child he used to be when Dutch had first embraced him and infected him with heavy things he hadn't felt before. Hope and security. Love and comfort. His hands shook. Only dehydration was keeping him from breaking into relived tears. But Dutch didn't have that luxury. His dark eyes shone wet in the sunlight. 

"Take it easy," Dutch said. "We got you."

They did. He did. Dutch. A miracle indeed. 

Dutch, arm around Arthur's waist, eased him into the small strip of shade the surrounding rocks afforded, beaming. "How in the hell did you find us?"

Arthur forced water down his throat only for it to come rushing back up. He was literally dying for a drink yet it felt like swallowing glass. He coughed into his fist and Dutch's grin faltered.

"Right. You don't need to get into it now." Dutch grabbed the back of Arthur's head as he'd done on the boat but seemed to think better of it and quickly pulled away. His hand hovered for a moment. 

"Well, this reunion is touching and all, but--" Micah began. 

Dutch cut him off. "Micah. See if you can find us something to eat within the trees there. There's got to be fruits or nuts or..." He looked back to find Micah leaning against one of the rocks, smirking like a fox guarding a hen house. "Just find something."

Micah chuckled, and something about it prickled Arthur's nerves. "'Course, boss. And I assume you would like these fools to come along with me? " Bill bristled as Micah waved at him and Javier. "Get some alone time to-"

"Yes, actually." Dutch glanced at the other two. "Scout ahead. See if there are any more locals willing to share information. Split up, but don't go far."

A cold pit broke open in Arthur's stomach. He didn't like the look on Micah's face. Never did. But Arthur had a general rule of thumb: only half-listen to everything the bastard had to say. His filter must have been damaged with the rest of his body. Just what was Micah insuating, and how long had he been speaking about them so...suggestively? It make a cold sweat bead down Arthur's neck. Guilty. He looked guilty. 

The group dispersed, and when their footfalls faded, Dutch hesitated. Finally, he grabbed both sides of Arthur's face, gentle in a way that tore his mind off his aches and pains. Held his eyes. 

"I thought I would never see you again." 

Arthur kept still and said nothing, beyond exhausted, but even more afraid to dislodge Dutch's hands or stop whatever seemed perched on Dutch's tongue and ready to fly.

"I know you don't like hearing these things, but let me be blunt." Dutch's voice was low and thick with emotion. Dutch was good at faking it when need be, but Arthur knew the difference. "It took losing Hosea to realize how much you mean to me, and I already thought you meant the world."

It was the "you're more than that" comment all over again, and Arthur was no closer to diciphering its meaning. He managed to swallow the little bit of moisture on his tongue. Dutch pursed his lips, chest expanding as if preparing to scream. Or maybe he was holding his breath. 

"What..." Arthur croaked, inwardly cringing at how weak he sounded. How broken and beyond use. "What are you sayin'?"

Dutch deflated, just a hair, but Arthur was studying him so closely he couldn't miss it. Dutch sat back, hands leaving Arthur's face and curling into the sand. "I don't...I just mean...I'm not sure."

Not sure? 

Arthur must have looked as confused as he felt because Dutch groaned, scrubbing a frantic hand through his hair. He stood. "I don't know, Arthur. I'm just saying...stick with me."

Arthur wanted to lift his wave at their surroundings and ask where else he'd go, but even the intent felt too heavy to deal with. He wanted to shut his eyes and sleep for a month. Then maybe Dutch would make more sense. 

Dutch began to pace. "Forget I said anything."

"Dutch."

"Forget it," Dutch growled, then let the bite of his tone evaporate. "I need to think how to get off this island and you need to rest so we can get going."

Arthur chewed the inside of his cheek, warm anger fighting off some of the chill he couldn't otherwise shake. It would hurt to shout, so he tried another swig of water instead, relieved when it slid down without trouble. 

He looked up and found Dutch staring at him all over again. 

"What?" Arthur barked. His lungs siezed and he choked trying to swallow the coughs that proceeded, hearing his airways rasp and rattle in a way that reminded him of Hosea. No. Of the man on the farm. Downes. 

Dutch's brows unfurrowed and he opened his mouth. That was when the others returned, loud, empty-handed, and trailed by men with guns.


End file.
